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The World's Greatest Books — Volume 04 — Fiction by Various
page 129 of 384 (33%)

It was useless to think of stopping in Metz. We arrived in that city of
Jews and soldiers after five days' march, and were at once, after our
night's rest, supplied with ammunition. I saw that my only chance of
staying at the workshops of Metz would be after the campaign was over,
for we were on the march the very next morning. Zébédé was not always
with me now, and my closest comrade was Jean Buche, the son of a
sledge-maker at Harberg, who had never eaten anything better than
potatoes before he became a conscript. Buche turned in his feet in
walking, but he never seemed to know the meaning of being tired, and in
his own fashion was a wonderful pedestrian.

From Metz we marched through Thionville, Châtelet, Etain, Dannevoux,
Yong, Vivier, and Cul-de-Sard. All our troops were pouring into
Belgium--cavalry, infantry, and artillery--and though there were no
signs of the enemy, it was reported that we were to attack the English.
I thought as well English as Prussians, Austrians, or Russians, since we
were to kill each other.

On the night of June 14 we bivouacked outside the village of Roly, and
General Pécheux read a proclamation by the emperor, reminding us that
this was the anniversary of Marengo, that the powers were in coalition
against France, and that the hour had come for France to conquer or
perish.

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm at this message from the
emperor; our courage was stronger, and the conscripts were even more
anxious than the veterans for the fighting to begin.

We were up at daybreak next day and on the march, eager to get a sight
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